


This Terrible Silence

by Mordred_Dantete



Series: After the Rain [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordred_Dantete/pseuds/Mordred_Dantete
Summary: After the Twilight Crisis life in Hyrule begins again with joy and blissful ignorance leaving those who fought so hard behind.
Relationships: Link & Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Series: After the Rain [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741519
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	1. Travel Does Not Alleviate Memory

**Author's Note:**

> This is the start of a post-Twilight Princess story set in an expanded Hyrule. I tried to make the setting more fitting to the size and population of a proper kingdom instead of a few square miles and a hundred people. Some names and locations may be familiar, others will not. Possibly posting an appendix with more details of the expansion.

It should have been an easy ride. A good horse could make the trip from Castle Town to Faron in less than two days, and to Ordana by sunset. Epona was capable of much more than that. However, it had been nearing noon of his second day when Link had reached Clock Town, passing wagons laden with food and lumber the whole way up to where they lined up outside the large gates. He passed by them by, gaining some curious and some annoyed looks from the merchants and travelers. A lone rider with no baggage was of little concern and the watch waved him through ahead of the others.

The town was busy with a mood of revelry in the air. Carelessly, he rode through the center street. Shops and homes lined the wide street as wagons made their slow progress, navigating around one another with some difficulty. From a turn street he heard an argument between to wagoneers, but even this was laced with laughter and easy forgiveness. Soon he passed into the main square, the namesake of the town rising ahead of him. A huge tower covered on all sides by clocks from the simple to the ornate. At the top, on all sides were the massive, synchronized timepieces turning away with a slow and bassy rhythmic clicking. A series of turning rings tracked the hours as well as the sunrise and set and even the phases of the moon. The square around the clock tower was full to bursting with merchants selling their wares at storefronts, carts, out the backs of wagons, or simply piles of good stacked on top of a blanket. Epona parted her way through the crowds with a slow and deliberate ease. Merchants who were not already engaged with enticing customers called out to him, holding out some device, meat, or other bauble they wished to tempt the young man with. 

After a quarter of an hour, meticulously counted by the clock tower, he cleared the square and began moving across the other side of the town, weaving in between a group of wagons lining up at The Rack, dithering with the stable keepers for priority to store their wagons in the massive building. As he passed by the popular rest stop and inn he heard the carousing easily from the street. The people inside sang boisterous and provocative songs off key, laughing with good natured taunting. As he passed Link could see four of five wagons in the yard, spilling out from behind the building. The stable no doubt already filled to bursting. Inside the coordinated incoherence of song gave way to cheers and shouting as the people of the region, be they farmer, rancher, merchant, or soldier all drank and made merry. Spirits were high everywhere he looked. Every face he saw was split in a wide grin. Every greeting he heard was laced with joyful laughter. Passed The Rack he saw a small lean tent shading a Tinker plying his trade, busy at work mending bits and bobs or trading from his packs. Next to the Tinker was what looked to be a minstrel down on his luck, telling stories and singing to the people gathered for the Tinker’s trade while some of the people tossed a few rupees into his hat. 

Link passed the place by, simply riding through with his head down and his stomach giving nothing but a dull and half hearted growling despite the savory meaty smells or spices of roasted nuts from hawkers on every other corner it seemed. Soon enough he waited in line at the opposite gate as the watch inspected a few wagons ahead of him before just waving the young man on. Out on the open road once again his pace never resumed and soon enough other wagons passed him by and silence encroached around him again.

The afternoon passed as the morning had. The silence surrounded him. Even the wind was scarce. As the sun started to set, the light fading on another day the tree line of Faron dominated the horizon. He could see the lights from the Twin Arms towns being lit, dotting here and there guiding and inviting travelers. The sight did nothing to lift Link’s spirits. Instead he halted Epona with the slightest movement of the reins. With only the tips of his boots and a lazy movement of his hand he guided Epona off the road and a short ways off into a large oblong divot near a ragged copse of trees. 

As he guided Epona off the road he waited for the complaints, the protestations, even mild questioning defiance. None was forthcoming. Only the silence.

He dismounted off to one side, and with little conviction he went about gathering his things and making camp. While he pulled the bedroll and bags of food from behind his saddle, his eyes lingered on a long and thin bundle hanging against Epona’s side. The bundle of mixed cloth and leather widened suddenly toward one end before tapering again. After a few moments of his staring, Epona turned her head to look at him, eyes big, watching. He got moving again.

The depression was in easy sight of the road and a common traveler’s campground that Link had made much use of through his adventure. In the center was set a good sized fire pit, lined with flat stones and the grass cleared away within arms length of it leaving only hard packed dirt. Link dropped his bedroll and food upwind of the pit before leaving Epona to graze and wandered off toward the gnarled copse of trees to gather wood. 

When he returned with an armload of fallen branches and some pulled browning grass he paused at the lip of the little sunken campsite. He waited for the demands, for the complaints. Epona watched him. The only sound was the wind, and the silence.

He arranged the fire the way Rusl had taught him and struck it alight with his knife. As the leaves and twigs he had gathered took light and the sun receded down over the horizon Link started to dig through his bags for tonight’s dinner. He took out a couple links of hard sausage, a biscuit, and an apple. He placed everything on the flat stones around the fire to warm. With his food cooking he measured out dinner for Epona too, looping the feed bag over her head and patting her neck absently before turning away.

It was a simple and meager dinner. Surely the complaints would come now. She deserved better than this. Sleeping on the ground was uncomfortable. Such paltry food was not suitable for her. Why had he not stopped to at least purchase something fresh from Clock Town while he passed through? 

There was only the soft crackle of the fire. The light wind through the grass. The whisper of leaves from the nearby trees.

He ate mechanically, taking no pleasure in the food, scarcely even tasting anything he ate. After he finished he packed away the sacs of food for his pillow. He took the feed bag off Epona, letting her drink the rest of the water in his skin before putting them both away.

He sat on the grass near his bedroll and stared absently into the fire as the last lingering light of day vanished overhead, and one by one the stars emerged in the sky above. Eventually the fire died down as the moon rose high overhead, waning half, squinting down at Hyrule below. Link paid it no mind, simply lying back as the fire died down to embers. He rested his head on the sacs of food and closed his eyes for sleep.

The ground was hard. The wind dipped down into the shallow divot, cold and stirring up his hair. The journey should have ended hours ago with a soft bed had he not been wasting his time. Link squeezed his eyes shut waiting, hoping, praying for her sarcastic and petulant demands; wishing to hear that pretend aloofness, that brash entitlement which had at first been so grating. But it did not come, it would not come. He was tormented by the silence still, lost in the solitude. 

Midna was gone. His friend was gone. Forever.

Link slept fitfully, shaking now and again as dreams assailed him. As if to further torture him, he did not know if he wished to remember or to forget. 

The tremor of her voice. 

The tear on her cheek. 

That final moment.

The burning kiss goodbye seared upon his soul. 

His body rocked with dry, silent, sobs briefly. Then lay still.


	2. A Return of a Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Zelda's introductory chapters is a lot more difficult than expected.

The day had finally come.

The air of celebration was thick over all the city of Mido. The procession was not to go beyond the walls of Castle Town, but that did not deter the people from their revelry. Those of means or ambition to do so flooded across the bridges and joined the crowds gathering along the route, hoping to catch a single glimpse of their sovereign. The rest of the people of Mido chose to celebrate in their own ways, leaving the pomp of royal processions and a fleeting glimpse for a silken glove, a piercing blue gaze, or a wave of chestnut hair, and instead they gathered together with friends, family, neighbors. These people, the common people of Mido, gathered round with tankers of ale or wine. Taverns, inns, any establishment where drinks were served of any kind overflowed with customers by mid morning. Kegs were rolled into the streets to facilitate the celebration. Yet through it all, as the amber nectar flowed freely and rupees filled the purses of the drinking houses, the crowds did not become belligerent, rowdy, or violent. None would dare risk the breaking of such a day, the sullying of this celebration. 

For today, today their Princess was returned to them.

Today they laughed, they cheered, they cried tears of joy and few would dare to cast shame upon them as they no doubt must have done their utmost to hide their own. Today they celebrated not only to mark the return of their beloved monarch, but also to chase away the specter of their ordeal. The people all remembered well the nightmare, the darkness that had enveloped them, had halted everything. For weeks they could do nothing but cower in their homes, wraiths, afraid. A great many of them knew someone who had refused to stay hidden, had wanted to face the monsters, had thought to shield his fellows, or tried to sneak away. Precious few of those people were ever seen again. The people had been freed of their terror, but the uncertainty had remained. The return of light to their city, their province, did not return those who had been stolen by the beasts of the shadows. They went about their lives, doing their best to get life in Hyrule moving once more. Yet all of them were keenly aware of the lack of royal guidance. The castle was completely barred to entry. The City Watch kept order as best they could, as ever they had, but their Princess was missing. Some nobles remained, taking control, keeping laws, commerce, and taxes moving. Parts of the Hylian military acted under their orders, assisting the Watch and guarding the city, but rarely venturing outside the protective walls. The fear of a coup was widespread.

That fear simmered in the back of every citizen’s mind for months, one sudden evening brought to the forefront by a great sound that had shaken the city. A battle raged at the castle grounds. Fear gripped the people that night, barely suppressed panic. Another invasion? A coup? A revolution? The tension in the air lay thick like a collectively held breath. The battle moved, somehow, beyond the city walls, clashes and flashes of magic and other unknowable powers leading many to speculate. The hopeful believing their Princess had broken free. The downtrodden terrified of court mages solidifying their rule. However, the night ended with the joyful word of their Princess returned, the Princess Regent once more in control of her kingdom. The Twilight Crisis was finally over.

Three weeks had passed since that night and yet precious little news had been forthcoming from the castle, the court, or the beloved Princess. That was, until this day. On this day, the Royal Procession was set to loop Castle Town on the way to, and returning from, a scheduled afternoon sermon at the Temple of The Goddesses. It was to be the first public appearance of the Princess since the crisis had begun. 

Peace had once again settled over the kingdom.

The stone streets gave a smooth enough ride to the carriage to make it, if not pleasant, at least not uncomfortable. The princess, against the advise of her guards, leaned herself out of the carriage window as she passed a particularly large crowd gathered on either end of a small bridge. She smiled at them, allowing every bit of her youthful radiance to shine through with one graceful arm raised to her people in greeting, salute, and thanks. It was a subtle and delicate gesture, the kind that comes so naturally to royalty. The effect this gesture had on the people was immediate and profound. They rose cheers to her name, others bowing or even going so far as to drop to a knee as they received the royal attention. That shining smile remained upon her perfect coral lips until she pulled herself back into the solitude of her carriage and sat back upon her seat. 

Once inside the smile fell away like the mask it was revealing an expression more troubled. Like the gesture it was a complicated expression. Her face held a mixture of pride, annoyance, sadness, self reproach, and under it all a profound loneliness. Few could reach such emotions, only seeing those she allowed to be most on the surface, but they were there. Always.

The Old Queen sat across from her. The aged figure shrouded and veiled in the black lace of funeral mourning as she always was. Her visage forever hidden now, likely a tactic she used well when she had been queen, all those years ago. 

“You should show more restraint, girl,” she said, her voice firm, forever wielding her authority, even long after it had run out. “This is an important day, but do not let yourself get carried away. The people must see you, and see you in control of yourself above all things. A Queen who can not control herself has no hope of controlling the court, let alone her entire kingdom.”

Zelda pretended to ignore this advice, more and more now offered without invitation. However, after a short pause she assumed a benign expression of kind obedience, one that she used as a child to lure her nurses and tutors into giving her more leniency. It was an expression adults were more comfortable with than a child with wisdom beyond all of them. Wisdom derived, in part, from the lessons of the Old Queen.

“A Queen must love her people else her people will never love her,” she said, keeping her voice pleasant and even pitching her tone up to sound like the young girl she used to be. “A happy people will serve their queen above all else.”

Her tone seemed to irritate the Old Queen, as she knew it would. The shrouded figure cut a sharp gesture of annoyance in the air. It was a gesture more direct than that Zelda had offered to the people, but it still conveyed much. It was a gesture that said ‘ _I know what you do. Beware._ ’ 

The princess let this second mask fall away, revealing her true expression. Annoyance and contempt were prominent in her eyes now. The Old Queen only laughed. “Defiance will not avail you, girl. You act as though this were some game in the gardens where you risk a torn skirt, a skinned knee, and the scolding of your nurse. If you are not careful your kingdom will be taken from you by someone who cares not for your power, for your blessings. Only a scaffold will await you if you do not listen, if you do not focus! You know this yet your mind wanders, lingers. And what does it avail you? What did you hope? That your _Hero_ would stay? He would read the truth of your heart?” The Old Queen made a noise of contempt accompanied by a dismissive wave of the hand, casual and cold. “You know well that he does not belong in this world of intrigue and plots. Beyond that you have no right to expect from him. Think of all you took from him, all he has given. He has played his part, and now you must set him free to return to whence he came, just as I had.”

Zelda grit her teeth, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. Outside more people cheered, called her name, so brazen so full of hope and joy at her return. She could still so clearly remember the warmth of his blood as it oozed up between her fingers no matter how hard she tried to stop it.

The Old Queen clicked her tongue irritably, a twitch of her ears making her veil shift ever so slightly. “Say your lesson, girl.” she commanded.

The princess did not make any effort to hide the contempt in her expression, her posture hostile, angry. However, she did speak as bidden, for now she had little choice. “The Court must see me in command. They must see me calm and without fear. My absence diminished my power and those free from the castle took every advantage. If they smell my weakness they will strike. The people are my buffer, my protectors. If they are content, if they love me, they are unlikely to rise against me or aid any nobles in doing so.”

The Old Queen waved off further explanation with the same cold and dismissive gesture as before. “Close enough. You do learn, but you have always been so willful. I tell you and have told you it could be your undoing. You know the right path, but your heart steers you astray. Listen to me. Trust me, Zelda. Hyrule will prosper again.” She let some fondness seep into the cold cracks of her voice at the end, showing the young princess that she cared. Zelda knew she did. The Old Queen could no more lie to her, than Zelda could to the Old Queen. However, before the conversation could continue the carriage pulled to a stop.

Over a dozen carriages rode in the royal procession, carrying many nobles, courtiers, and their attendants. Before and behind Zelda’s royal carriage were two filled with guards from the castle. It was more protection than she had wished but the captain had been adamant. As the royal carriage came to a halt, a young girl of about fifteen, with hair red as fire, hopped from the runner and quickly lowered the stair. As the guards filed in and around to help the Watch keep the crowds back from the royal person as well as to serve her escort, the girl mounted the step and threw the carriage door wide open. 

Zelda winced slightly as sunlight streamed into the carriage, lighting up her and the empty seat across from her. “Arill,” she scolded gently, “Please be more careful.” 

The young maid colored, admonished, but her excitement overrode any timidity the princess’s tone had intended. “There are so many people, your Majesty! They are chanting and praying the whole way! I’ve never seen them so excited.”

Zelda took the girl’s hand as she stepped down from the carriage. She did not need assistance, but protocol was heavily ingrained into her behavior. Graceful as ever, the princess straightened and fought back the desire to stretch in front of the crowds. The Princess Regent drew all attention as she emerged into the sunlight. Scarcely twenty one years old and already she carried herself with the poise of a Queen long reigning. Her beauty was spoken of as legend across the kingdom and even passing beyond Hyrule’s borders. Chestnut hair fell beyond the small of her back, braded for a few inches near the end to keep from flying about her face. The golden circlet sat atop her brow, the single sapphire set to the center glittering in the sunlight. The Eye of Nayru it had been called when worn by her mother. Her gown was simple, but far from plain, white with layers of royal purple over top. Her shoulders were bare, a scandal but for the day’s heat and the allowances granted by both her youth and beauty. Her gaze fell over the people gathered, held back by the cordon of guards, her eyes of the clearest blue, so deep so dark they were nearly violet.

The cheering of the people hushed greatly as she emerged. Their enthusiasm was raucous while they could see only the carriage and perhaps a silhouette, however in the full presence of their princess they were awed to much more muted admiration. Zelda herself was unsure if this bothered her, though she was honest enough to admit she was glad of the lack of shouting. The sermon would be tedious enough without so many people cheering and shouting outside. 

The Temple of the Goddesses was perhaps the second largest building in Castle Town, second only to the castle itself, located directly across from the castle. The size and position of the massive cathedral stood as testament of the strain between the monarchy and the church at the time of the city’s founding. Over the last hundred years the church had fallen further and further behind in popularity and power, however Zelda suspected that after this recent crisis that would change. The long standing legend of her own powers being a sign of divine blood would no doubt bring more attention to the services should the priests and monks be even halfway clever. 

The princess remained where she was for a short time as the other nobility also emerged from their carriages. She also waited to see who had been assigned the privileged position of sitting with her during the service. The Duke of Faron lingered near to her, offering her a small bow and one of those smiles she found so oily. His wife was nowhere to be seen, causing Zelda to bite her tongue in worry. However her attention was drawn away as another approached her, bowing far lower than was strictly necessary given the less rigid atmosphere than at court. It took her a few moments to rifle through her memories to recognize the young man as the Viscount Jolph no Faron. It felt strange for her to apply that title to the young man and not his father, but the former stern and traditional Viscount no Faron was one of the many lost during the crisis leaving his son to inherit the lands and title. 

Viscount Jolph was only slightly younger than the princess herself, though he stood taller than her by several inches. He had grown much over the last five years and was finally adjusting properly to his size. Yet even now she could read in his eyes his youth, fear, inexperience, things that had always been lacking in her own eyes, even as an infant. In a horrible flash she had a memory of playing with him in the gardens as a young girl, brandishing small wooden swords at one another to battle. He had let her win.

“Would your Majesty permit me to accompany you inside? I have been told there is prepared a most enjoyable service to celebrate your glorious return,” he said, still half bowed, unable to meet her eyes. 

Zelda made a mental note to thank the captain of her guards for arranging this. Jolph’s honesty and enthusiasm would be far better company than the lecherous attention of the Duke of Faron. It was probable he would be to afraid to speak at all, thus leaving her free to her own thoughts. Feeling emboldened, and partially to spite the Duke, she offered Jolph her arm which, after some hesitation, he took carefully. Together they walked through the large double doors and into the cathedral. The rest of the attending court followed along behind, already whispering to one another about the favor she granted the young viscount. 

Before she passed through the doors she could feel the disapproval of the Old Queen on her, but she had always refused to follow her beyond the doors of the cathedral. As Zelda passed into the shade of the building she felt that unwelcome gaze falling away and she allowed herself to relax, if only a little.


	3. The Temple of Time

The wind through the trees was a relaxing sound. Calming. However, it was not refreshing. Much of the wind caught in the upper branches, adding the turning rustling leaves to the natural music of the forest, but leaving precious little to blow across Link’s heated body as he climbed up to the temple once again. He remembered the trip through Faron being easier, particularly when he was still a wolf. Even with Midna’s extra weight, the winding climb had been a simple thing. 

This time the climb had taken him hours. The afternoon was waning on, though there was little more than his instincts to tell him so. What light there was came down filtered through the trees and leaves in the same golden glow as ever, and would only stop for perhaps a quarter of an hour of vibrant fire before going suddenly, dangerously, dark. Link pressed on, climbed on, determined and sweating but ignoring all discomfort until he finally clambered over a massive twist of roots and his dusty boots set down on the mossy stone floor of the Sacred Grove.

The walls had crumbled in many places, torn apart over decades, centuries perhaps, by the twisting vines and roots of the forest leaving the courtyard mostly clear. An ancient fountain sat in the center, surprisingly untouched even though it had an overgrowth of vines and leaves flooding out from it instead of water. On one side a large arch still stood leading into the forest, a route broken by a steep ravine. He had come that way once, a long time ago. Months ago. With Midna. Now the climb was the only way, through the gap in the broken wall. He could still hear the wind overhead, rustling the leaves, making the golden light shift and dance across the mossy floor. Except now, inside, the leaves sounded more like the rustle of robes, the wind whispers, voices. This place sat, alone, ruined, outside of time. It felt like home. Link did not want to think too hard about why that was.

Ahead of him the Temple of Time was left mostly intact. The massive stone doors stood solid and closed. Link had pushed open those doors with considerable effort on each of his prior visits to this place, and every time he returned they were closed again. The Temple’s walls stood tall, unbroken, but yellowed by the passage of time. Ivy clung to much of the masonry, growing over through the broken windows. Link took a moment to brush some of the dust from his clothes, picking off broken twigs and leaves here and there, as well as to catch his breath. He felt a warm twinge in his side that flared with a distant pain as he brushed his hand over it, but he ignored this like the aches over the rest of his body. He lied to himself, pretending he was not delaying the true purpose of his visit. He was not trying with desperate clumsiness to hold on to the last vestige of purpose he had left to him.

As he approached the Temple doors he could feel a slight wind rising up over the ruined walls. They carried with them sounds from some other time, some other world. Idle snatches of conversation, a child laughing and shushed by a devout parent, the distant so faint sound of music and celebration. Every step he took the wind swept not the leaves overhead but the robes of the monks that once kept this temple. The shifting golden light spread not shadows of the forest boughs, but the shades of time. Figures hid in the overgrowth. Faces watched him as he approached. Everywhere he looked he saw them: inquisitive, impassive, imperious, condescending, judgmental. When he laid his hand upon the door it was warm to the touch. Upon the great doors Link took a moment to look over the inscription again, as he had done each time before. The Triforce and the royal crest of Hyrule topped the doors, split down the middle by their seam. Ancient Hylain scrawled down the length of the door, a language he could not read. Yet even still he thought he understood it. The characters swirled, twisted before his eyes until they were almost legible. 

This was a sacred pace, for a sacred and specific purpose. 

Link put his shoulder to the door and pushed. His feet struggled for purchase, sliding as he scampered to brace himself again. For a brief moment he feared the doors would not open, that they were barred against him. However the moment those thoughts flitted through his mind the door gave way, sliding open with a loud noise, like the striking of a great drum. The sound rattled through the grove, silencing the whispers, the trees. The wind stopped. The figures became simple shadows and whispers hushed to silence. He pushed the door open with a quiet whisper of sound as the stone slid easily over the polished floor, pushed just enough for him to walk through without having to shuffle past as he stepped into the temple. 

Once he set foot inside the voices returned, more distinct this time. He heard the shadows of monks as they shuffled about, praying to the Golden Goddesses, singing, chanting…

Immediately through the doors he stood on a small railed landing with stairs on his left and right, curving around and down into the temple proper. This little landing, beyond the doors was somehow still clean polished stone, and his feet made hard, muted echoes as he walked into that ancient space. Below were rows of rotted pews, torn and overtaken with vines and thistles. Flowers bloomed in sporadic bunches here and there as well as some mushrooms growing up out of the crumbling wood. The ceiling was long gone from some calamity or other, the rafters likewise missing, but yet the temple itself stood firm and no rubble had fallen to the nave below. The Guardians stood at the far end. Cold. Lifeless. They flanked the door to the inner sanctum. The place the temple was built around.

Link continued down the stairs on his right, running his left hand over the dusty banister as he descended. Every step he took he could hear more voices. He could not understand them, but he could tell they were talking about him: The Hero. Or maybe not him, maybe it was the other they discussed: The one who came before. Link walked more quickly after reaching the bottom of the stairs. He could feel the eyes of the past on him. Their scrutiny sent a shudder down his spine. As he approached the small open doorway to the inner sanctum the Guardians remained still and quiet. They did not bother him, did not test him. He paused in front of them nevertheless. For a brief moment he wondered if it was because he held the sword that they would not question him or bar his passage, or if it was the sword itself that gave them their power. Such was a question for scholars. Shad would no doubt have an unending interest in it. Link only spared a few seconds of remembrance before he passed the guardians by and entered the inner sanctum.

While in the nave he had heard the chanting and voices so clearly, but in the sanctum those sounds were deadened. He could hear them behind him through the door, chanting, singing, but here… here was a solitary place. This was a room for the Hero. The quiet, the solitude settled over him. It was a sad and lonely feeling, but it was also right. This had been his burden to bear. His alone. The monks, the voices, the shadows of past could not pass through here with him. None could understand but those who had held this sword. Those who had fought their battles. Those who had lost so much.

The light overhead shifted again, yet still filtered down into this chamber constant, steady. The open space was dim, shaded, but for a series of small parts in the canopy of trees overhead. Golden rays of light shone down illuminating the small stone altar at the center. That light spilling out over the rectangular dais and fading out as it dissipated over the stone ground. The floor was not worked finished tile like the rest of the temple, but smooth, plain stone, perhaps even part of the foundation stone the temple was built upon. Near the altar a short crack ran through the dais, and up through it a single flower bloomed with white petals kissed with blue toward their center. 

Link took his time approaching the dais. He stopped as he reached it. Slowly he unhooked the shield from his back and lay it down against the raised stone. He stepped up onto the platform, approaching the little pedestal altar inscribed with the symbol of the Triforce. The sacred symbol was dark, burned upon the stone. However, the bottom right of it was lit as with an inner fire. It pulsed in time with the beating of Link’s heart, resonating with him. 

Link began to unbuckle his belts and harness. The weight of the moment rested on him, making his fingers numb and heavy. Soon, too soon, he held the sword in his hands, the belts left to the stone floor. He drew the Master Sword from its scabbard and held it before him. The blade was milky pale, unlike any other metal he had seen, and still glowed with that inner light. He remembered how the Shade had looked at it during his training with such regret and longing. Link closed his eyes, tried to focus inward on the sword. He focused on that voice that he had heard, the spirit that had helped him in his final battle with Ganondorf. He reached out with his thoughts, but there was nothing. 

Now that the moment had arrived, he hesitated. That remarkable courage that had carried him from his little village across the kingdom and even beyond the realms of light quailed at what must come next. As he gathered himself he walked around behind the altar. Kneeling down, he took the ornate scabbard and slid it into the small alcove hidden behind the pedestal where the sword was to rest. It was the space of moments, and he stood before the altar again, sword in hand. 

His grip tightened on his sword, in many ways it was his birthright, his destiny. For a long time he stood there, listening to the ghostly voices and the heavy quiet of the sanctum. At last he let out a long sigh, the lamentation of a man much older. Link took the Master Sword in both hands, holding it aloft with its point down. He guided the blade into the notch at the top of the pedestal altar. As he did he told himself that this was but another step in his journey. Life, his life would continue. Another journey would begin. However as he pushed the sword into place it slid easily into the altar and settled home with a loud thump reverberating from the ground underneath him. It was a dull sound that spoke of finality and with it he felt the sword lock into place. As it did the whispers, the songs, the sense of watching, of past, of history all vanished. His part was ended now. This place was not for him any longer. 

On a whim, Link gave the sword an experimental tug. It did not move any more than the stone of the temple foundation did. His time wielding the Master Sword was at an end. The blade was at rest now, and his part was done. 

A proud, yet sad smile spread across his face as he released the weapon. In the utter silence of the grove he gathered his things, buckling his harness and setting his shield upon his back. As he walked back out into the nave his footfalls were the only sound. Even the wind above had died. The emptiness, the solitude, the silence was complete and absolute. Link could not help but feel that this place, too, had abandoned him. He climbed the stairs in silence, walking back outside the temple to prepare for his climb back down. 

As he stepped over the threshold his knees buckled, his foot turned, and his legs gave way. 

Link fell in a heap just beyond the temple doors, delirious, alone. He lay there, bereft of destiny, of purpose, of companionship. For a short time he lay there and wept for the loss, for the emptiness, but only for a short time. Soon he pushed himself to his feet and unashamedly whipped away the tears, leaving streaks of dirt under his eyes. 

Within minutes he started his climb back down. If he was lucky he could return to Ordon before dark. He considered seeking shelter from Rusl and his family. Or perhaps avoiding the village entirely and spending the night at his home. Either way he knew he could not stay long. There was only one thing left for him to do now.


End file.
